


Oneshot of Fluff

by SealandRocks



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Sherlock (TV), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Supernatural
Genre: Adrenaline Junkie, Awkward Boners, Cuddles, First Date, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Requests, blind date au, coffee shop AU, collection of oneshots, cuteness, hot attendants, how many things you can you put on the cat before they move, one shots, sleepy au, things i wrote
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SealandRocks/pseuds/SealandRocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots I wrote for Tumblr prompts. I'll add more as I write more. Nothing bad enough to make this mature yet, but it's starting to get close to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FrUk

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Coffee shop Fruk Au? Where Arthur works at a coffee shop and Francis frequently visits, maybe?

Arthur barely had to look up to see that blonde head of hair anymore, able to just tell the Frenchman by the way he walked up to the counter. Still, he looked up anyway, finding he never really tired of the look of the other man’s face. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle every time he looked Arthur’s way, and though he always seemed to have a smile on hand, the ones he reserved for the barista were especially soft. Arthur loved it, though he would never admit it. He loved the way those golden locks of smooth hair framed the other’s face, the suggestion of stubble that promised to be deliciously rougher than the skin underneath, and even the faint scent of roses that followed him around.

Still, like he said, Arthur would never admit any of this. He gave Francis his customary scowl, greeted with a heart melting smile in return. The shop was practically empty, never filling up until around lunchtime. Francis was one of the few customers that came in for breakfast, and the only who had managed to come every single day for the past four months.

“Bonjour, mon ami~. How is your day going?” Francis’ voice was almost like a song, and though Arthur didn’t show it, he could listen to it all day and never tire of it.

“Good day, Francis. Fine, thank you.” Arthur feigned disinterest, his words biting just on the edge of insult. Francis laughed, as usual.

“Good, good. You know what I want, oui?” The Frenchman winked, and Arthur rolled his eyes, scowling harder though his pulse quickened every time he said something like that.

“Hard to forget when you’re so bloody persistent. Shut up and sit down, I’ll get you your coffee, git.” Arthur charged the usual to Francis’ tab, turning to work the machines behind the counter. He knew the recipe by heart, measuring, brewing just the right amount of time, splashing with cream to make an elegant rose-shaped pattern on the surface. Arthur loved coffee, almost as much as tea. He loved brewing it, the smell of it, the feel of the grains against his skin. But the thing he found he loved more and more each day, was that Francis never listened to him, and was waiting on the other side of the counter to receive his coffee. The long-haired blonde smiled his dazzling smile, and Arthur felt weak in the knees, cursing himself silently for being so bloody affected every time Francis looked at him. Much longer and he would be showing his interest in other regions of his body which the Frenchman had already established his own interest in.

“Double shot mocha chino…” The brit said softly, softer than usual as he set the coffee down on the table. Francis looked at the cup, then back at Arthur, making no move to take it. Arthur frowned, pushing the cup a little closer. “Oi, frog, are you listeni-“

Arthur was cut off when Francis gently grasped his wrist, holding him place as he leaned over the bar and placed a gentle kiss on Arthur’s lips. The younger blonde stiffened, then relaxed into the feeling, melting into the feel of Francis’ lips on his own, the stubble gently scratching his cheek, the wet warmth of his tongue softly tracing his lip. Arthur brought his own tongue out to taste the Frenchman, just a soft touch that sent a jolt through his body, and got just barely a taste, just enough to make him want an infinite amount more. And then Francis was gone, pulling back and leaving Arthur leaning halfway over the counter. The Brit opened his eyes and was greeted by the Frenchman’s own, his lust reflected in those sapphire pools.

“Thank you, mon ami.” Francis whispered, then took his coffee and went off to his normal chair, leaving Arthur there with a blush on his face, butterflies in his stomach, and a certain feeling that there were many more “thank you” kisses reserved for him in the future.


	2. Destiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of oneshots I wrote for Tumblr prompts. I'll add more as I write more. Nothing bad enough to make this mature yet, but there might be in the future so I'm keeping the rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> panic-on-baker-street asked: Omg can you do Destiel with like sweet fluffy first loviness?!
> 
> Btw, check her out on Tumblr, she's really awesome. And this is my first Supernatural fic, I'm only is season 3 so bear with me.

Dean yawned, sleepily opening his eyes to the cracked hotel room ceiling. It was dark, too dark for his peace of mind. But he was a Winchester, and Winchester’s never cringed away from the dark. The hunter stretched out the kinks and stiffs in his back, yawning again as he relaxed back into the over-bleached sheets. Yet another hunt had been completed that evening, a brutal job involving a stubborn and illusive gang of demons paired up with vampires that had nearly killed Sam and himself in the process. They had got out of it, though, with barely a scratch on them (by a Winchester’s standard). The flashes of light that had got them out of the solution definitely hadn’t had Dean hopeful that a certain angel would show up. Not at all.

Dean’s thoughts were pulled out of the surrounding darkness when he felt a body move next to him. His mind first went to the logical conclusion that Sam had crawled into bed with him, like when they were children. But that couldn’t be right. Sam’s bed was on the opposite side of the room, and he could hear him snoring gently even from over here. Dean was fully awake in an instant, flipping to his side and going into a defense position even while laying down. He wasn’t prepared for what was actually before him, the sight sending him jumping nearly off the edge of the bed.

“Goddammit Cas!” Dean clutched his chest, breathing hard as the dark-haired angel who had appeared next to him looked on unfazed.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why you want my father to-“

“Stop talking, you know what I meant.” Dean was finally beginning to calm down, opening his grass green eyes to stare back into sapphire pools. Even in the darkness, Dean could see every detail of the angel’s face. It was almost like he radiated light, making it so that every feature was illuminated perfectly. The blonde didn’t get to appreciate often just how beautiful this man was. He was almost like a mix between a sex god and a kitten, and little confused scrunch of Cas’ nose made him lean more towards looking like the latter at the moment.

“Ok…” Cas stated, though it was obvious he still didn’t completely understand.

“What are you doing here, Cas? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I wish I could have been here earlier, I was almost there after you were freed but I had some other business to attend to. One of them got away.”

Dean sighed, a smile slowly spreading over his cheeks anyway. Cas could always bring a smile out of him.

“That’s very loyal of you. But why are you in my bed?” Cas smiled softly himself at the spoken words, scooting just slightly closer so Dean could feel the warmth of his body.

“I know you’re afraid of the dark. I can see it. So I thought I would keep you company.”

Dean opened his mouth to refute that point, but Cas was right, so after a moment, he closed it again. Shaking his head slightly, Dean closed his eyes once more, arms instinctively wrapping around the angel’s middle. Castiel shifted closer, tucking his head under Dean’s chin and inhaling his scent deeply. The Winchester pressed a soft kiss on top of the angel’s head, silently thanking him for being with him in the dark. He had thought Cas had already fallen asleep before there was a return kiss pressed to his collarbone, making Dean sigh before he slowly slipped back into sleep, cuddling an armful of happy angel.

(Next morning)

“Cas, why are you naked?”

“I thought it would make you more comfortable if we both were.”


	3. JeanMarco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of oneshots I wrote for Tumblr prompts. I'll add more as I write more. Nothing bad enough to make this mature yet, but there might be in the future so I'm keeping the rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose asked for "Blind date jeanmarco. It's just the two of them, and then Jean decides to take Marco to this "really great restaurant with a cute waiter" and it turns out that's where Marco works and he's the cute waiter." Enjoy, my sweet~

Jean thrummed his fingers on the table nervously, glancing around at the patrons. After months of whining and complaining about being single, his friends Connie and Sasha decided to try and help out the blonde and set him up on a date. No big deal, right? Just a little blind date to maybe get Jean’s mind off the fact that Mikasa was still fawning over Eren even though the idiot was still just as literally gay as he was when they had met. Though perhaps it was just a close sibling bond. Still, the fact remained that Mikasa wasn’t interested in him.

It had taken months more for Jean to actually agree to the blind date proposal. Connie had gone off about how he had known the guy for years, and that Jean probably knew him by face if not by name. Jean had refused not only because he was reluctant to actually stoop as low as having Connie set up dates for him, but also because he didn’t want to admit straight out that he was bisexual yet. Though Connie had walked on him making out with a dude before and barely batted an eye, so there was no real point in denying it. So, Jean finally agreed to at least give the guy one date, though he insisted on picking the restaurant (which actually turned out to be a café). If he was going to be subjected to a night of supposed torture, he could at least have a hot waiter to look at.

Still, the nametag-ed “Marco” was absent, so it seemed, though Jean’s dated looked to be shaping up worse and worse. The blonde man had arrived a bit early, so he wasn’t surprised that whoever he was supposed to be dating wasn’t there yet.

A familiar voice sounded behind him, and he spun in his chair to look behind him. There was Marco, the man who was usually clearing tables and bringing out pastries whenever Jean visited. Which was often, if he was honest. Not only was the coffee damn good, but he was admittedly addicted to the smiles Marco gave out so freely, even to someone like Jean. Those warm chocolate eyes flicked his way, catching Jean’s in a melting gaze before the blonde could turn away. But he could tell by that gaze before he looked away that Marco was coming over to talk to him. “Be cool, Jean.” He told himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out noiselessly before looking up at the freckled man who was now standing over him.

“Hey Jean! You’re not usually here at this time of day, what’s up?”

Jean felt himself smile just at the genuine care in Marco’s voice, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Oh, you know… Never too late for coffee.”

Marco laughed, sending pleasant chills down Jean’s spine.

“I don’t know, this time of night. You caught me right at the end of my shift, actually.”

“Oh? So you’re headed home now?” Jean looked up at the waiter who had recently become somewhat of a friend to him, silently pleading him not to leave him here with a date that had so far been a no-show.

“Actually, I’m off to a date. He was supposed to meet me here…” Marco looked around curiously, but Jean slowly blushed at the words. He wasn’t sure if he was going to strangle or kiss Connie later.

“Don’t tell me you’re…. You don’t happen to know Connie Springer, do you?”

Marco looked down at him surprised, but smiled quickly after that.

“Yeah, he’s actually the one who- “ Slowly, Marco’s smile fell as the realization dawned on him. Then he blushed as well, chuckling. “So… You’re the ‘fair haired maiden man’ Connie promised me?”

Jean scowled, though red started to touch the tips of his ears. “I am most certainly not! I mean… Yes, I’m the one he set you up with, but I am not a fair haired maiden man.”

Marco grinned, not put off by Jean’s scowl at all.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to prove that to me.”

Jean finally stood, almost at eye level with his date. He was just a tad shorter than the brunet. He had come into this not sure of what to expect, except maybe a few glances at a very hot waiter when the date was lagging. But all his plans were suddenly rewritten, and he had a feeling just a coffee with this man wasn’t going to be enough for the night.

“Like to catch a movie or something?” Jean asked, shouldering his bag.

“Only if there’s pizza in with that afterwards.”

“A man after my own heart.”

Jean and Marco walked out of the warm café into the brink autumn air, and after a block or so of gentle chatter and laughing, Marco slipped his hand into Jean’s. Said blonde decided that he was going to kiss Connie after this was all said and done rather than strangle him.


	4. JohnLock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an idea I got from the wonderful thegeekcooks on Tumblr~ She was mentioning how fun it would be if John treated Sherlock like a cat and placed as many items as he could on him before he moved. Enjoy yet another unedited disasterpiece!

Sherlock wasn’t even surprised to find that the room was dark when he opened his eyes. The sun often did that to him, passing through the sky faster when he retreated into his Mind Palace. Still, sun up or down, Sherlock had the solution. It wasn’t hard to figure out, really, but there was one little piece of wood stuck in the footprint of the murderer that had made all the difference. Still, after a few hours of deep thought, Sherlock had solved the case and all that had to be done was text Lestrade.

Except, Sherlock couldn’t get up. There was an unusual weight all over his body, which made him look down to see what the unusual objects were. And objects there were, several of them. They covered every inch of his body like some sort of catastrophic blanket. But it wasn’t simply one type of item, rather a multitude of practically everything in the apartment. Books from the bookshelf (the A through J section, Sherlock noted), a packet of crisps, a few saucers, several old phones, chicken bones, a Bunsen burner, two laptops, three old papers from the past consecutive days, a scattering of some type of cracker in the shape of fish, a few ripe fruits, and the three pens John kept in his pocket for his work were just a few things in the cacophony of items on his body.

“What the…” Sherlock sat up partway, letting a few books and an empty cup roll off his chest and onto the floor. John Watson looked up from his chair in the other side of the room, looking over the detective before a satisfied smirk graced his lips.

“Rise and shine.” John had been reading one of the books that was currently not on Sherlock, but was currently watching the detective with an obvious look of smug wonder.

“What the hell are all these things? Did you do this?” Sherlock plucked fruit and books and even a pair of bright red pants off of himself, recognizing the last item as John’s from one of his “definitely-not-snooping-explorations-of-the-apartment”. John snorted, setting down his book.

“I’m afraid so. Ever heard of that game, ‘Place as Many Items on the Cat as You can before They Move’?”

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, shifting into a sitting position once enough of the items were cleared away.

“I can’t say I have, is that a patented ga-“ Sherlock was cut off by John laughing and shaking his head.

“It’s a game with no name, Sherlock, I had to make one up. Well, basically you put as many items as possible on your cat or dog until they decide to move. I wanted to see how many I could do on you before you noticed.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, picking another goldfish shaped cracker from his hair.

“So you were just placing items on me while I was in my Mind Palace? How bored were you?”

John shrugged, grinning despite himself. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, feeling something crinkle against his stomach as he moved. He lifted his shirt, and a piece of printer paper fell out and drifted to the floor.

“Pretty much. It was hard to continue when I had covered all of you but your head, though. You’ve been laying there for nearly four hours, and it’s my day off so I decided to make the most of the opportunity.”

Sherlock didn’t respond right away, eyes narrowing on a small smudge on John’s hand.

“God, you didn’t draw something on my face, did you?”

John just grinned, picking his book back up as Sherlock sprinted to the bathroom and shouted in nearly a scream at the marker-caused damage riddling his face.


	5. Adrenaline Rides (Johnlock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John keeps riding a certain ride at the park, but purely for the adrenaline rush. Absolutely. This has nothing to do with the boy who works there being extremely hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, something a little more riske! Inspired by a tumblr prompt thing that was an AU where one person buckles the other's seatbelt on a roller coaster. I didn't even read this again after I wrote it, so sorry for any mistakes and feel free to comment.

John bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited in line, watching as the last few people in front of him filed off to the ride, leaving him at the very front. His hands were twisting in his pockets impatiently, almost as if desperate to be clinging to the bar of the roller coaster yet again. John had long since knew he was an adrenaline junkie, the dirt bike he owned in high school had proven that much, and being a senior in college he hadn’t had time to fully curb his appetite for that rush. But, strangely, that wasn’t the reason he was riding this ride. Sure, the first time was for the adrenaline hit, but all the times after were for a certain someone who had stumbled by him before the ride had even begun. Actually, he had more glided than stumbled, because John couldn’t imagine someone that coordinated ever being anything other than graceful.

The theme park’s screaming people and bright colors practically bombarded John’s senses, but nothing could stop everything that was his being drowned out by the thought of the dark-haired beauty that worked at the this particular ride by helping buckle people in. And he looked to be John’s age too, which was a major point in favor of John asking him out sometime. 

The man in charge of the line called the next people to come forward, nodding at the blonde since this was at least the fifth time he had ridden this ride. John was already moving to the front of the car and sitting down by the edge before he realized exactly where he was. That extremely cute boy worked on helping people in the front, and so far John had only ever sat in the back, happy with watching from afar as he moved around and apparently tried to at least not look murderous, much less smile. But John was sitting at the very front of the car, and he could already see that boy out of the corner of his eye coming towards him. 

John looked up, catching those cold, gray eyes looking down at him with something almost kin to amusement. His hands rested lightly on his hips at he studied John, and the blonde suddenly had no doubt that this man could read every secret he could ever try to hide just by looking at his face. 

“Sixth time today? Someone’s a real adrenaline addict.” The boy, Sherlock by his name tag, said coolly, voice deliberately uninterested. God, was that his voice? Sherlock couldn’t be more than 20, but that voice was deeper than a fucking submarine. John’s body started to heat up in a familiar way, though he tried his best to douse that flame. 

“Yeah, I can’t get enough. And this ride is definitely the best in the park.” John really didn’t know how he could speak right now, but he did it and smiled anyway, gulping as Sherlock leaned over to secure his belt and bar. 

Oh no, oh no, oh no, Sherlock’s hands were straying much too close to dangerous territory. John blushed hard and looked away, although he could already feel it. The strain of his jeans, that uncomfortable tightness that wasn’t enough to quell the rising bulge. Goddamn it, why now? John knew why, though. Because those long, slender, beautiful fingers were working on the belt just over where John wanted their attention more than anything.

Sherlock grew still beside him for a moment. John looked up to him, finding those blue-green eyes staring back into his heatedly (What color where his eyes even?). They just looked at each other for another second, before Sherlock began to move again. Cautiously, he traced a small, discrete circle close to the inside of John’s thigh, a definite invitation. 

“You must really get off on it…” Sherlock murmured, but they both knew he didn’t mean the ride anymore. John nodded and smiled softly, and something flickered over Sherlock’s face as the man stood back up. “I get off in half an hour. If you’re lucky, you might get another ride in.”

And then he fucking winked. John’s heart just about stopped, and he couldn’t breathe. By the time he came to his senses, Sherlock was hitting the button to make the ride go, holding John’s eyes meaningfully as the blonde slowly slid out onto the ride’s track. It was only then that John realized he was grinning like an idiot, his face was extremely hot, and the bulge in his pants hadn’t lessened in the slightest at the prospect of meeting up with Sherlock again after one last adrenaline rush.


End file.
